


Ben Solo and the Case of the Banking Regulations

by Ksco



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bank Shenanigans, Ben's Internal Dialogue Is Basically 'FUCK', But Really... The Man Just Wants Some Goddamn Efficiency Around Here, Christmas, Christmas Crack, Christmas Puns Galore, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grinch Ben Solo, He's A Two Fingers Man, Office Sex, Penetration Tester, Porn with Feelings, Smut, merry christmas ya filthy animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ksco/pseuds/Ksco
Summary: Leaving Starkiller Technologies for his own one-man online security company was the best decision that Ben Solo has ever made in his life. He has everything he needs now - the clientele, the drive, the money... and, above all, a nice,orderlylife.When a playful email arrives in his inbox on Christmas Eve detailing ‘The Case of the Banking Regulations’ and calling him agumshoeandfellow flatfoot(as if a security breach is some kind offucking joke), he is livid. How dare they take his financial security so lightly! And on Christmas Eve of all days!A man on a mission, Ben storms the castle (or, erm, bank), determined to air out his grievances to any manager who will listen. In waltzes Creative Marketing Manager Rey Niima, with her cheap Santa beard and tacky crimson button down and,goddammit, Ben can't think anymore.Faced with impossible (and beautiful) odds, what's a lowly penetration tester to do?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 43
Kudos: 194





	1. Confound It!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tmwillson3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmwillson3/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Theresa! You are a light to this fandom and I hope this little two shot of Christmas crack brings you the same joy and delight that you are to our community each and every day!
> 
> For everyone else... This is based on an actual email I received from my bank. I am going to hell for this fic, but hey, happy holidays anyway!

Ben Solo does a final sweep of his inbox every afternoon at five thirty on the dot. 

There is no variance. No flexibility in opening that time slot up for last minute meeting requests. 

It is always the final thing before signing off and packing up, the last little ritual that both cleanses the stress of the day away and puts him into the right mindspace to prepare for the pressing tasks of the day to follow. 

He prides himself on his efficacy, on his ability to meet client deadlines before there is even an inkling of urgency tied to them. 

It was why, even after he stepped away from Starkiller Technologies and embarked on his own as an independent penetration tester, clients still tripped over themselves to work with him. 

So of course, when he clicks on the email from Takodana Banking, he is instantly annoyed. 

_‘Dear gumshoe,’_ it begins. 

“Gumshoe? What is this, the fucking seventies?” He mutters, eyes flickering as he scans the page, finger dragging along the track pad to scroll when the text disappears off-screen. 

_Dear Gumshoe,_

_A mysterious document recently arrived at Takodana Banking’s headquarters--a text that promised to reveal intel vital to our customers’ very financial security! Scrawled across the top in eerie lettering was the cryptic note: Regulation E._

_Ah-ha! That first clue would explain how we handle fraud on our customers’ accounts, information that we wanted to share with all of our customers at once. And yet, the entire text was written in a seemingly impenetrable code. Confound it!_

_Undaunted, our team of super sleuths pulled out our secret decoder rings to crack the most inscrutable cryptogram--legalese! So don your fedora, turn up the collar of your trench coat, and join us in solving ‘The Case of the Banking Regulations’!_

The email continues, discussing various methods clients could use to identify and protect themselves against fraudulent attempts on their accounts before it launches into detailing a recent attempt made to infiltrate Takodana Banking’s entire system. 

Finally, they sign off.

_That was some crackerjack code cracking, fellow flatfoots! Thanks for joining us to solve the case. Until next time, keep your wits about you and your decoder rings at the ready--you never know when another case might be lurking around the corner._

_But for now, consider this case… closed!_

_Yours truly,_

_The Sleuthing Team at Takodana Banking_

Ben has never been so quick to print something off in his life. He stomps across the room to his printer, one hand extended over the tray while the other taps out an impatient beat on the bookshelf it stands on. 

The machine whirs and whines, until, finally, it drops the page into his waiting hand.

It’s still warm as he uncaps his red pen and begins marking up the document. 

* * *

“I need to speak to a manager,” Ben demands the second that he steps up to the plexiglass separating him from the hive of activity behind the front desk. 

The woman behind it wears a set of reindeer ears and a simple, plastic name tag that states her role in all caps: _TELLER_. There is no eye contact, no polite request of ‘ _hello, how may I help you?_ ’. Instead, she hums, holding up one finger as she types furiously away on her keyboard, requesting both his patience and silence while she kills more of his precious time. 

Ben’s eyes narrow. 

He’s officially pissed off now.

Where was their personal touch? The willingness to provide exemplary customer service that speaks intimately to their clients, instilling loyalty and trust? Did nobody know how to do their fucking jobs around here? 

He’d originally chosen Takodana because they were a small, local branch, believing that they would take care of him better than one of the larger, multinational corporations. 

Turns out, he was wrong.

It was becoming abundantly clear that whoever was in charge of this company was a certified disaster. He’s done waiting, it feels like he’s done seven years of it, despite only having to queue in the after hours Christmas rush.

Ben raps his knuckles on the glass. 

“Tonight,” he growls.

The teller purses her lips, diverting her attention to glance pointedly at the clock. “We close at seven, sir. I’m afraid there simply isn’t time.” 

They can go to hell if they think he’s going to walk out of this building without achieving what he came here to do. 

“It’s a good thing that clock reads one minute ‘til then, isn’t it?” Ben snaps back, cold fury blazing in the depths of his dark eyes. He braces himself on the exposed ledge, leaning in to loom menacingly against the glass and stare her down, pleased when she swallows heavily. “I really do hate to be a Karen about this, but I am not leaving this building until I’ve spoken to the man in charge. So, you can either let me speak to him, or de-escalate a grown ass man making a huge fucking scene in your lobby, and you don’t _really_ want to deal with that, do you?” 

The teller opens her mouth to protest but Ben cuts her off with one raised finger. 

“It’s your move, choose it wisely.” 

Ten agonizing seconds pass while she considers him intently, and then she passes a hand over her face in resignation and turns away to dial a number. 

“Hello, Rey? We have a man here who is requesting to speak to a manager before he leaves. I know this isn’t exactly your specialty but…” She pauses, nodding her head in passive agreeance with something said on the other end of the line followed by affirmations of _“Moderate”, “Yes”, “Perfect, thank you”,_ and _“Merry Christmas to you too.”_

Finally she turns back to Ben. 

“Take a seat, please,” she instructs, her eyes clearly communicating that she is one thousand percent done with him. “You can speak with Rey Niima, but it’ll be about five minutes. Rose, _our security officer_ , will escort you there when it’s time. Don’t let her size fool you. She may be small, but she packs quite the punch.” 

The woman falls silent, her threat lingering heavily in the air.

“Noted,” Ben replies, already dismissing her to scope out the seating in the room, his fingers curling tightly around the folded papers he’d brought along. Annotated copies of the email that he’d marked up, stapled pristinely in the upper left corner. 

One for him, one for Mr. Niima. 

Now that he’s so close, he can’t wait to give the man a piece of his mind. Starting with the embarrassment of attempting to minimize the severity of an attempted breach of security with that joke of an email. Not having a strong security system could spell out the ruin for any company, let alone a financial institution. It was _absolutely vital_ that they understood this. 

Maybe, if they weren’t total dicks about it, he would even offer up his services and perform an external penetration test for them. Test out their strengths and weaknesses, see where he needed to push hard and where he could slip in without resistance. 

Free of charge for the initial consult of course. 

The detailed analysis and report on how they could resolve any weaknesses in their security would come later. 

He wouldn’t be _total_ grinch about it.

Oh. 

He turns back toward the teller, only to find her still watching him with her elbows on the desk and her fingers steepled in thought. 

“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” he says genuinely.

She eyeballs him skeptically. 

“Same to you.”

* * *

A pair of boots come to rest at the periphery of his vision and Ben glances up from jotting down notes in his phone. A short list of all of the ways that he wants to test their system for security once they give him the job. 

Before him stands a tiny beast of a woman. 

One _Officer Tico_ , according to the embroidered name tag on her shirt.

Her short height and hair that flips out like she’s stuck in the nineties would be comical if it wasn’t for the wide power stance that she’s adopted. One hand rests with the thumb tucked into her tactical belt, just above a rather large can of pepper spray, while the other sits nonchalantly on the butt of her stun baton. 

Even with him sitting, they’re almost eye to eye, and the look she’s giving him is positively ferocious. 

“Mr. Solo?” She asks, even though it’s abundantly clear that she already knows the answer seeing as the other guests have long since trickled out of the lobby and back to their waiting lives. The clock on the wall now reads nearly twenty after the hour, and Ben isn’t sure if they kept him waiting as a slight to his earlier rudeism or if the manager is simply a busy man with poor time management skills. 

Possibly both.

He doesn’t deign to give her a verbal reply. Instead, he cocks his head with a shrug of his shoulders and a small gesture with his upward palms as if to say ‘ _in the flesh, what now?_ ’. 

Officer Tico’s brows furrow and the corner of her lips twitches down in disapproval.

“Right then,” she replies curtly, with only the mildest hint of exasperation coloring her voice. “Follow me.” 

Despite her small stature, Ben finds that he actually has to adjust his pace to a brisk stride to keep up with Officer Tico. He can’t help but admire her efficiency as she leads him quickly through the maze of corridors that house the behind-the-scenes work that goes into commercial banking. 

It was, as one would say, where the magic happened. 

Except there was nothing magical about it at all. Sure, there were hints of character peeking out at him through open doors and at the occasional secretary’s desk, tiny mementos that speak of family and personal interests and Christmas cheer. For the most part thought, he can’t help but notice just how bleak and impersonal office life really is. 

This was no way to spend your life. 

He’s never been more thankful to have escaped this fate when he went rogue with contracting.

 _Thank God_. 

Merry fucking Christmas to him. 

Right on the heels of that thought comes the physical sensation of running into a small brick wall. 

Officer Tico levels him with a stern glare, so he raises his hands in surrender and backs up several paces until he’s standing at a respectable distance from her. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m being good.”

She considers him for another beat, and then twists the knob and pushes the glass door so that it swings open, squeaking in protest midway before hitting the door jamb with a subtle thump. 

They should get some WD-40 on that. 

General maintenance, yet another area his bank was woefully lacking in. 

“Please take a seat,” Officer Tico instructs, gesturing into the room by mimicking the open handed motion he’d made to her earlier. _Subtle and sassy_ , he thinks. He can respect that. “Rey will be with you shortly.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving Ben to settle into yet another chair while his eyes roam the space around him. It’s both far more lived in, yet not quite as personal as the other offices that they had passed along the way here. 

There is controlled clutter everywhere. 

Everything from small succulents used as bookends for haphazardly piled texts about creative design and marketing to the set of Chinese Lucky Santa Cats, three of them, in various sizes, waving at him from the behind the monitors. There’s even a matched set of tall, decorated potted norfolk pine plants that twinkle merrily from the front corners of the room. 

Despite this, there is no sign of the man’s personal life. 

No family photos of him smiling out at nothing with his arms around a dog, or wife, or a gaggle of children. No certifications or hints of a life outside of this place. 

Just plants, books, Christmas, and cats. 

Well, that, and lots and lots of papers. The man was a printing fiend. 

The smattering of pages positively litter the desk. Each page sports hastily jotted notes anywhere that a blank space can be found, literal chicken scratch that Ben doesn’t have a hope of deciphering from his vantage point across the desk. 

Another red flag. 

Documents left out where anyone could get their hands on them and carry away important banking secrets without even blinking an eye.

Alright, so these didn’t look that important, but he’s tempted to pluck some pages randomly from the pile anyway and pocket them to teach the man a lesson. Best to make a note about this too. 

He glances down at the nameplate sitting prominently on the desk. 

_Rey Niima_

_Creative Marketing Manager_

Rey with an ‘e’. Interesting spelling.

Rey with an ‘e’ should know better than to be this lackadaisical about his work. 

Ben pulls out his phone again, fiddling with the screen until he brings up his ever growing google doc, and begins to type. 

_‘Information storage - determine employee habits and disposal of secure informa-’_

“Sorry about that!” A chipper British voice exclaims as the owner bursts into the room. They breeze past him like a small snowstorm before throwing themselves into the chair on the other side of the desk. The chair creaks from the force of the movement and then papers rustle as they are rearranged. “End of the day meetings are the devil.” 

From the high, lilting pitch of his voice, Mr. Niima sounds a lot greener than Ben had pictured in his mind. 

God, this was going to be more painful than he thought. Young professionals always had a damn chip on their shoulders, what with their determination to prove themselves combined with their Gen Z rebelliousness. Corporations needed to get their act together and stop hiring children straight out of primary school. 

“I’m sure,” Ben growls, without looking up. He’s stubbornly determined to finish typing out his thought before placing his phone face down on his left knee. 

_‘-tion, potential leaks, unsafe practices.’_

“Listen, if you pay attention, we can get this over as painlessly as possible--” Ben’s voice falters when he finally looks up, intent on leveling the man with the gaze that his peers at Starkiller had once joked could make a snowman sweat. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

His brain has stuttered to a dead stop and he frantically tries to boot it up again.

This wasn’t going to be painless. This was going to be far, far worse. 

For one thing, Mr. Niima is not a man. 

For the second thing, she’s sitting there, all lithe and powerful in a maroon suit that could only have been thrifted from Goodwill, based on the ill way it fits her, and a makeshift Santa ensemble straight from some drugstore dollar bin that conceals most of her features. 

But _fuck it_ , even with a fake beard covering half of her face, she’s _hot._

He is so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut fest that is chapter two should be up in the next few days! Huzzah!
> 
> Thank you [Bronwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/here4thereylo) for betaing! 


	2. Miss Santa Fucking Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.

“Are you kidding me? This is ridiculous,” Ben groans, flinging his copy of the email onto the desk before dragging a hand over his face. He stops with it cupped over his mouth and leans forward until his elbow is propped on the desk so that he can just gaze at her. 

Consider her. 

They’ve been arguing for a solid twenty minutes now about his comments and concerns. At one point, she’d motioned him over to her side of the desk, fired up her banking software and pulled a heavy regulations handbook out of her drawer. 

Then, point by painstaking point, she had proceeded to methodically destroy him.

He had stood there nearly terrified to breathe, with one arm thrown around to grip the back of her chair and the other braced on the desk as he leaned in. His knuckles whitened anytime she leaned back to gaze up at him and see if he understood her. Every time she did it, the tiny wisps of chestnut hair peeking out from beneath her Santa hat would brush against the fine hairs of his arm, and, well, Ben had been very, _very_ thankful that he had a solid object between them. 

Sporting a hard on wasn’t exactly the way he wanted her to take note of him. 

Eventually, he had fled back to his side of the desk and they had picked right back up where they’d started; bickering like an old married couple, each determined to make the other convert to their side.

“Look, being transparent only advertises your weaknesses,” Ben finally states, moving to rest his elbows on the very end of the armrests and intertwining his fingers. He leans forward, holding her gaze seriously. “You cannot throw every card on the table. Somebody _will_ pick them up, and then you’re screwed.” 

“Screwed, huh?” Rey raises a single eyebrow and the pointed look she gives him makes him cough and stumble over his next words. 

“I stand by what I said,” he manages to eek out, but it’s too late. The heat has started to rise in his face and he can feel both his cheeks and ears burning. Her eyes flick over his visage, taking him in, and then she smiles, a private little thing, so small that he almost misses it. 

It smoothes out almost instantly, and he wonders if it ever existed at all. 

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I see snow reason for you to be upset right now. You have very low stakes in this as a client. Unless, what you’re actually looking for is something to service. Are you looking for a job, Mr. Solo?” 

She is the very picture of passive professionality as she picks up the papers on her desk and shuffles them into order. Ben’s eyes track her, mesmerized by the way her hands move as she taps the edges gently on the desk. 

When she finishes, she places the stack primly next to her keyboard.

Hold up.

“Did you just fucking say ‘ _snow_ ’ in that sentence?” He asks incredulously. 

“I did,” she replies, meeting his gaze head on, challenging him to continue.

He takes the bait. 

“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Ben throws one hand in the air, gesturing at everything and nothing all at once. He shoves out of his chair to pace in the space in front of her desk. One hand finds its way into his hair, and then he’s ruining it, running it through his carefully coiffed locks over and over and over again before turning back to her. “You evidently show a complete and flagrant disregard for professional communication here. You can’t tell people you were almost hacked! Do you know what happens when you do? They penetrate you. They take you for all that you’re worth and milk you dry! And in the end, it’s your own fucking fault because _you fucking asked them to do it_.” 

Ben’s rant ends with his hands planted squarely on her desk as he leans in and meets her astonished gaze. He’s a mess, he knows, with his mussed up hair and probable crazy eyes. Heck, there’s even a vein throbbing in his temple that he is suddenly and painfully aware of. 

She’s going to call Rose back and kick him out on his undeserving ass. 

But instead, Rey reclines in her chair, stroking the ends of her Santa beard as she watches him thoughtfully. 

“Mr. Solo, I’m going to have to ask you to hold your reindeer there,” she says, and every word she speaks is careful and deliberate. “We are _very_ busy around here trying to ensure that the good people of Coruscant have access to their funds on Christmas. We don’t have time to cater to bad little boys who throw tantrums simply because we don’t follow their idea of proper internet protocol.” 

“Are you calling me a bad little boy, Rey?” Ben growls through his teeth. 

“I am,” she replies evenly, eyes never once leaving his. It’s intense, the moment sizzling between them and it gives Ben the courage to voice the thought that has been lingering in the back of his head since the moment he raised his eyes and fell headfirst into lust. 

Possibly love, as absurd as that sounded, but only time would tell that. 

“Do you want me to show you how bad I can be?” He asks softly, dangerously.

Rey rises, hands falling to the desk so that her fingertips just brush his and her face comes to rest inches from his. Their breath mingles as she matches his power pose. 

“And what if I do?” She replies, using the same eerily quiet, measured tone.

Her breath smells minty sweet.

_Peppermint._

_Fuck_.

His eyes drop to her lips, then further down, to the place where the top button of her cheap, crimson button down is fastened. She’s rigged a collar around it, some god awful, tacky fluff meant to resemble Santa’s suit but that can easily be disposed on. Overall, it’s far too modest for the things he wants to do to her right now.

He inhales sharply and, with effort, drags his gaze back up her body. 

God above. This was hell.

“Miss Niima—” Ben begins, the words coming out strangled in his attempt to rein in his desire before this escalates into something that might push the boundaries of what she’s comfortable with. 

Only to be cut off by Rey’s bossy tone. 

“That’s Miss Santa _Fucking_ Claus to you, _sir_.” She strongly emphasizes both the curse and the final word, eyes blazing passionately and daring him to defy her.

He wonders what would happen if he did.

For a tense moment they’re locked in a stalemate, staring each other down, trying to subtly gauge the true intent behind the tension that’s electrifying the room.

“Miss Santa _Fucking_ Claus,” Ben concedes hotly. His lips pucker even as he says it, as if he can’t believe such a tacky Christmas pun is falling unironically from his mouth. “I need you to tell me _very clearly_ where this is going.” 

She hesitates for the briefest of moments, desire and the slightest hint of guarded resistance in her eyes as she searches his. She must find what she’s looking for, because she takes a deep breath and barrels on.

“Miss Claus would like to take a ride on her personal six foot—” here she eyes him appraisingly, “—three sleigh. As long as said sleigh is consenting.” 

The request is clearly enunciated and there’s no mistaking the intent in her eyes. Despite the horrible analogy, Ben’s cock has decided to agree wholeheartedly to her little role play. 

He himself has never agreed to something so quickly in his life.

“Yes,” he says, his lips reaching to close the distance between hers but she leans back and places a single finger on his lips. 

It stops him instantly in his tracks. 

“Shut and lock the door, Mr. Solo,” she commands seriously and he moves to follow her directions before it even registers that he’s doing it. He’s across the room in three strides, the door swinging shut and lock snicking into place without a second thought. 

God, he is so gone for her. 

When he turns around, it’s to find that she’s moved around to the other side of the desk. 

His side. 

She’s leaning against it, her pert ass perched just on the edge, legs splayed just enough that the skirt she’s wearing has ridden up, only an inch or two, but the sight of the additional skin still nearly brings him to his knees when he stops in front of her. 

Instead, he steps between her legs, thighs pressing steadily against her own until she opens for him, shifting so that there’s no resistance when his hands fall to her waist and he lifts her up to sit on the desk. 

When he’s finished, the fabric of her skirt has ruched up, barely covering her, and he’s pressed snug against her. 

Exactly where he’s meant to be. 

It feels like coming home.

If he’s being honest with himself, it’s what he’s wanted for the last twenty minutes. Ever since he glanced up to see those dimpled cheeks and soft, shining hazel eyes that had locked on him and only him when she asked in that bright, sunshiny tone what it was that she could do for him.

He’s catching _feelings_ for this girl and he hasn’t even fucked her yet.

Damn it.

And yet... he had never in a million years expected _this_.

That she might be as equally drawn to him as he was to her. 

He moves to kiss her, to lay claim to her lips before continuing on in a quest to map out every freckle, every scar, every single perfection of her body as if they were a star chart leading him on the greatest expedition of his vastly undeserving life. 

Only to pull back spluttering from a mouthful of plastic, artificial hair that fills his mouth before his lips even grace her skin, courtesy of her Santa beard from the motherfucking North Pole. 

Or Walmart. 

Most likely Walmart. 

Either way, that monstrosity has got to go.

“Take off the beard, Rey,” Ben commands and he holds her shoulders to keep her from following when he leans away. His tone is low and husky, not a request, but she argues it like one anyway.

“But—” 

It’s his turn to put a finger on Rey’s lips to silence her.

“Take off the beard,” he repeats and his eyes are rife with intention. The little intake of breath she takes as he stares her down, resolute in his request, makes him twitch against her. “The hat too.” 

“As you wish,” she replies breathily.

“Wrong movie,” Ben grins as she strips the beard off and then uses her index finger as a slingshot to shoot it across the room toward one of her trees. It misses, just barely, and she turns back to him with unconcealed mirth sparkling in her eyes. 

“Why?” She challenges, tightening her legs around him and winding a hand into his hair to draw him close to her again. She grins wickedly, “I’m getting everything I want, aren’t I? Merry Christmas to me!” 

He laughs, claiming a quick kiss at the same time that he plucks the red cap from her head and flings it over his shoulder toward the little pine. It sticks on the branches, looking woeful and sad and utterly hilarious, and Rey leans around him to whisper an exaggerated “ _I’_ _m sorry!_ ” to her tree. 

“Poor little Christmas tree,” she laments as she turns back to Ben. She drags her finger absentmindedly along the shell of his ear as she blinks up at him, hazel eyes wide and flooded with mock innocence. “To be desecrated in such a way on _Christmas Eve_ of all times…” 

Intelligent, sexy as hell, _and_ humor so dry that it needed its own humidifier?

Forget bars and online meetups. He’ll be storming the doors of the bank and starting fights with _all_ of their tellers if it means spending more time in her company.

She’s positively _radiant_. 

“He’ll get over it,” Ben whispers, low and intense and so, so ready to fuck this tempting creature in front of him. He’s already ruined for anyone except her, so he does the only thing his short circuiting brain can think of. 

He claims her lips, deepening the kiss only when he feels her begin to reciprocate, breathing raggedly against her when she pulls away to breathe. 

His eyes track her microexpressions as he touches her, noting the tiny ticks and hints of pleasure that flicker across her face as he explores the gentle curve of her body, her breasts, her ass. Rey leans into it, into him, eagerly, greedy to take everything that she can get even during these early stages of foreplay. 

She rolls her hips, testing her power over him, causing his blood to pulse like a wildfire set free as he marvels down at her. He’s instantly smitten with the way her eyes flutter shut when he returns her testing roll with a gentle thrust, and the shallow intake of air that follows. 

“Ben,” she whispers, a barely restrained smile playing along her lips, “I think you’re happy to see me.” 

There’s no stopping the delighted laugh that pulls from him, so he drops his head into the crook of her neck in an effort to conceal it, even though he knows she can still feel him smiling against her skin. 

“I expected better from you, Niima,” He murmurs, casting around blindly for the dip just above her collarbone. His tongue darts out to taste her, making her squirm before he begins to lay a thoughtful path of kisses down her neck. 

His hands become intimately acquainted with her body, stopping for buttons each time he reaches a new one on her blouse. When he reaches the final two, his fingers are impatient and he ends up tugging the fabric too harshly, sending them skittering across the desk and out of sight before they have a chance to blink. 

Ben had thought she was gorgeous before, but it’s nothing like seeing her bared to him. Every inch of her is golden and toned and muscled like a Gregorian masterpiece come to life. 

He has to worship her immediately. 

“It’s a timeless quip, rating at—” Rey continues the conversation cheekily, sounding positively unaffected by him as she slides her hands down his abs and tugs on his sweater. An unspoken command: ‘ _off_ ’. Ben ignores her request, doubling down on his attack, kissing and sucking and nipping and soothing at her skin until she’s a writhing mess beneath him.

She’s rolling against him with increasing speed now, arching against him so that her cunt and breasts press against him simultaneously at the crux, falling backwards when he bends her over, nearly crushing her to the desk with how fervently he kisses her. He catches her with one hand wrapped securely around the base of her neck and draws her gasping back to their starting position. 

Sans one tacky red shirt, of course.

“You were saying?” He murmurs, absurdly pleased with the rosy tint of her cheeks and the way that little wisps of her hair have started to come undone from her pins and curl prettily around her face. He plucks the rest of them out one by one, dropping them to the floor, watching as her hair unravels and falls in gentle waves around her neck. 

Rey huffs, wrapping her arms around him and leaning in as if to tell him a secret. “I was saying that it would rate at least a—” 

But she’s cut off again, distracted as Ben dips his fingers underneath what’s left of the cover of her tight pencil skirt. As he skims the edges of the scrap of lace that’s waiting there, a needy groan rips from deep in his throat. 

He didn’t even know that he was capable of making such a sound, but the second it leaves him, it does something to her. Her hazel eyes darken and the pupils dilate, adjusting rapidly as she gazes straight into his wide open soul. He traces the seam of her panties with one finger, ghosting over her sensitive skin before he caves, laying the flat of his palm along her thigh before smoothing it up and underneath the fabric to brush directly against her center. 

It pulls the most delicious, breathy gasp from her lips. 

She’s so wet for him already, so he retreats, soothing his palm over her in gentle circles as he kisses back up her neck, each kiss on her body echoed by the brush of his fingers against a second set of lips, lips that he desperately wants to delve into but… not yet. Not until she’s good and worked up. 

A physical whine leaves Rey as he withdraws to bring both hands up to her face. He’d meant to kiss her again, but she looks positively wrecked already, and he grins at his handwork. 

“Mmm,” he hums cryptically, before leaning in and nipping at her ear, “Patience, sweetheart. Good girls answer the questions they’re asked before Santa can give them their presents.” 

Her voice is positively guttural when she tries again. “It’s at least an eight out of—” 

She _keens_ when his hand drops down mid-sentence and he slides a finger inside of her without pretense. Her arms raise as if on their own accord, winding around him, clutching tightly to his shoulders as he pumps slowly in and out and she pulses with need. 

She’s tight, and he intends to change that if he has any hope of being inside of her tonight.

“Were you a good girl this year, Rey?” He whispers, low and gravely into her ear, nudging against her with his nose as his lips tickle against her skin. 

“Yes,” she moans again, deeper this time, huskier, and she moves with the motion of his hand, chasing after pleasure as if she is a goddess and he is a mere vassal meant to give it to her. Maybe he is, no, _of course_ he is. He’d do anything she asked of him, the moment she asked it. 

She’s loosening up around him now, his finger moving in her without resistance, and Ben knows what he has to do. 

Rey whimpers as he slides a second finger into her. 

“Oh, god!” She breathes as he stuffs her full, crashing into him, pressing her lips against his with such urgent fervency that he bends backwards as she begins to roll her hips and truly ride his fingers with a reckless energy. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” 

And he doesn’t. One hand traces up her back until his fingers find purchase in her hair and then he pulls her head back. She hisses from the pain, but returns his bruising kiss when he leans into her, his other hand working earnestly inside her. They battle for dominance for a moment, both determined to have the upper hand, until he scissors inside of her. 

Her hips buck at the unexpected change in movement and she gasps, a lustily little sound that he swallows up whole. It echoes the pleasure that flashes deep in her eyes so he does it again, and then twice more, working her tight little passage open until she’s flushed and collapsing against him, moaning throatily against his lips. 

“ _Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!_ ” Rey chants under her breath, hips moving in time with his motions even as he switches back to frantically wrecking her, plunging deep before dragging his fingers out again almost entirely. She kisses him passionately, just on the edge of wild, when she remembers his lips and redoubles her efforts. 

“You can just call me Ben,” he grins into the kiss, chuckling when she bites his bottom lip in retaliation only to cut herself off with a strangled, wordless plea from somewhere deep in her throat when his fingers hit her just right. 

“Ben,” she chokes out, clinging to him as her hips stutter and her body begins to shake. “I’m so close! I’m going to—“

“No.” 

Her eyes flash open, fire blazing through the haze of lust, which only makes him determined to work her harder, to bring her right to the edge of the precipice, teetering unsteadily on the edge before she falls.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, and her hand is between her legs before he can so much as utter another word, rubbing furious circles over her clit while he penetrates her over and over again with his thick fingers. 

“ _Ben_ ,” she pleads again, desperately, “I need—” She gasps as a full body shiver ripples through her at the stimulation. “I need—”

He’s abandoned kissing her now in favor of watching her keenly as she falls apart. Her body flames beneath him, burning alive by this fire that’s threatening to consume them both if they aren’t careful. 

“Only good girls get to come, but you haven’t been good yet, have you?” Ben whispers lowly, heady with the power that he has over her in this moment. 

Her eyes flash with confusion at his words before recognition dawns. 

“Just fucking make me come already,” She demands hotly, and he barely has time to bark out a reconciliatory ‘ _yes, ma’am_ ’ before her walls start fluttering rapidly and she clenches down without warning, gasping his name. “Ben!”

Her body curls forward, hands desperate to grasp onto something as she falls. They end up tangling in both the knit of his sweater and the length of his hair, pulling as if trying to simultaneously escape the ecstasy and drag him into it all at once. He fingerfucks her steadily through her orgasm, wringing every last ounce from her until she’s left gasping harshly against his chest.

When she comes back to herself, her grip loosens and her frenetic energy softens into something more familial as she snuggles against his chest. Ben finds him arms twining around her without a second thought, holding on as if she’s something precious, combing through her hair with his fingers in a soft, hypnotizing motion. 

“Well, that was fantastic,” Rey finally says, and the deep satisfaction lining her voice sends a tingle of smug pride through him. 

Her body had fucking _sung_ for him.

“We’re not done yet.” With careful intent, his fingers slide up and hook under the band of her panties, tugging with just enough force that she exhales a deep breath and looks up at him with interest. 

“We’ll have to get rid of these,” Ben states dryly. 

“It’d be a crime not to.” Her voice is already higher, breathy on the edge of newfound adrenaline, when she agrees. She wiggles as he edges them down, bracing herself on the desk with her hands while slipping down and arching her body for him. The second that they are discarded on the floor behind him, she’s reaching for his waist. “We should probably take care of this too.” 

For a moment, he thinks she’s going to lay her palm on the outline of his cock, straining to break free from his dark wash jeans that are only on day two of his wash system. If she does, he doesn’t think he’ll last, but she only moves to fiddle with the buckle of his belt instead. 

He wants to feel her on him, surrounding him, listening to the animalistic song of two bodies moving together in tandem as it plays out in her office while he comes inside her. 

“Please,” Ben nearly whimpers. 

Rey undoes the buckle slowly, her eyes locked on him while his are steadfast on her hands as she moves through the motions of stripping him from his clothes. When his cock springs free, she greedily reaches for it before he captures her wrists firmly in hand.

“Don’t.” Ben winces at the brusque tone in his voice and softens it immediately at the sight of her wounded expression. “If you touch me now, I’ll come. I… I won’t last. You’re too beautiful, too perfect. If this is my only chance to be with you, I want it to matter.” 

An unreadable expression flirts across Rey’s face as she studies him, not all of him, just his eyes and the total desire for her within them. 

“Are you clean?” Rey asks quietly, and when he nods wordlessly she leans back against the desk and hooks one of her toned legs around him, muscles tightening as she pulls him into her personal space. The head of his cock bumps against her pussy and they both breathe in sharply. 

Ben’s eyes close, relishing the feel of her in this moment, in this perfect snapshot in time that will forever be emblazoned on his mind. 

“So am I,” her words drift to him in the darkness as she tugs him to her and she _leans_ so that his cock slips through her wet folds and catches briefly at the entrance before slipping away. “And I have an IUD. Please fuck me, Ben.” 

She ends with a light kiss to the tip of his nose, unsexy and innocent in every way, but it breaks him from his daze. His hand falls and he pumps himself twice, holding her gaze as he lines his shaft up and pushes in softly. 

He sinks in an inch and her breath catches. She encourages him to keep going by twining one hand with his and giving him a subtle nod before joining her lips to his.

She kisses him sweetly, tenderly, as he pushes into her, stopping when it feels like too much, like he might come from how blissed out he is, making shallow thrusts to bring him deeper into her when he’s regained a handle on his composure. 

At first it’s soft and slow, their lips never leaving the other’s as they fuck quietly against her desk, little grunts of exertion at the crux of each thrust and the slick sound of him sliding through her the only noise in the room. 

It’s more than lust at this point for him. Ben’s always been well aware that when he falls, he falls fast and he falls hard, so, when he pulls out almost entirely and hitches her leg further up his side to open her up while he drives back in, he says exactly what’s on his mind.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans as he sinks in deep, deeper than he’s ever been since they started this little dance thanks to the new angle, “I think I love you.”

Rey’s eyes are dark, her pupils blown as he says the words and Ben can see the exact moment the heavy implication behind them hits by the way her eyes widen. Panic shoots through Ben like a shot straight to the heart and he starts to pull away. 

“I’m sorry—” he begins, but Rey stops him with a growl and nearly pounces on him, pushing him backwards so that he’s suddenly sitting in the chair, legs splayed as she climbs on top of him and lines herself back up.

“Say that again.” 

It’s bossy and demanding and Ben Solo knows deep in his heart there is no going back, so he grips her hips to offer her stability, looks her dead in the eye, and tells her exactly what she wants to hear. 

“I love you,” he says again and she sinks down onto him, rolling over him like the incoming tide. “I love that you probably name all of your plants and that you have two Christmas trees and that you waltzed right into my life and made my heart start beating for something new again.”

She’s deliberate as she moves, sliding her hands under his sweater and working it off of him so that she can bend and lick a stripe up from his pecs to his Adam’s apple, which she kisses delicately before cupping her hands around his face.

“What else?” She demands. Her hands tangle in his hair as she leans forward, bracing her elbows against him as her hips work rhythmically, and she stares down into his eyes. It’s so fucking intense that Ben shivers at the attention, at the delightful weirdness of this beautiful woman on top of him, riding him with singular focus and looking at him as if maybe he could complete her world.

“You’re so fucking intelligent,” he growls, fingers digging into her hips as he moves her, setting a faster pace than what she’s capable of alone. “You’re brilliant. Do you know how hard I was when you were putting me in my place about Regulation E? I almost bent you over your desk and took you right there, over that ridiculous stack of papers you insisted on printing. You’ve fucking _ruined_ me for anyone but you.” 

She’s panting now, little puffs of breath that hit the bridge of his nose as she feverishly moves above him. 

“Tell me myrrh,” she manages, hands falling from his hair to grip the back of the chair, giving her the additional leverage needed to drive home with every frantic thrust.

Ben wants so badly to take her lips, to pour his devotion into kissing her senseless but doing that would change their position and there wasn’t a chance in hell of _that_ happening. 

He’s close now, and from the way she’s moving, so is she.

“And you’re so _fucking_ stunning. I wish you could see yourself. So powerful and radiant and absolutely breathtaking. The moment I saw you I knew you were it. Come on, Rey, _come for me_.” 

He says the last like a prayer and then she drives home one final time and he’s breaking, shouting like a man possessed as he bolts upright, arms gripping the armrests with brutal force as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside her. 

She’s spasming again, but not with enough force needed to orgasm. The moment his muscles relax enough to unlock he’s circling her clit, eyes blazing into hers even as he’s still pumping his seed into her. 

“Come for me,” he demands, staring into her eyes with enough force to move any mountain that dared stand in the way of his singular mission. “Come on my cock, Rey.” 

“I can’t,” she whines, even as she moves with him, her breath growing more erratic with every pulse, every softening thrust, every swipe on her clit. 

“You can,” Ben insists. He _knows_ she can. His girl can do anything. 

“I can’t—” but Rey’s interrupted by a knock on the door, a knock by one Officer Tico to inquire about the noise and ask if she is alright, and at the unexpected intrusion she shatters spectacularly. 

Her cry is wordless but unmistakably the sound of a woman in the throes of pleasure. She collapses against Ben, eyes screwed tight as she pulses and clamps down on his cock, riding out the waves of pleasure as they fall over her. She whimpers a few times as smaller, residual aftershocks roll through her until, finally, she’s left breathing heavily against his bare chest.

“Rey?” The doorknob rattles and, Ben’s got to hand it to Officer Tico, she’s nothing if not committed to her job to protect the good people of Takodana Bank. Rey lifts her head weakly to glare at the door from the haven of Ben’s shoulder.

“I’m fine, Rose!” She calls out once her breathing has stabilized, but she still sounds thoroughly fucked. Blissed out. Content and satisfied and so fucking full of him still. 

There is silence on the other side of the door and then, “If you’re sure…?” 

“I am,” she replies, and she turns to look at Ben, as content and sated as someone who has just peeked in the closet and discovered they’ve gotten everything they wanted for Christmas.

She kisses him languidly, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world, before pulling back and asking softly, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Solo?” 

“Ho-ho-how about dinner with me?” Ben asks before he can think twice, wincing at how godawful the joke sounds before it’s even properly formed in the air around them.

Dear god, this is why you left things to the professionals. 

Rey doesn’t seem to mind though. 

Her eyes twinkle as she leans backwards, fingertips scrabbling along her desk until she snags a wayward paper and a pen from a small caddy that had miraculously survived their frantic entanglement intact. 

She lays it on his chest and scribbles ten digits down before tearing off the corner and letting the rest of the paper flutter to the floor.

“Don’t lose this,” she warns seriously as she tucks it into his hand and closes his fingers around it.

Ben’s heart skips a beat. 

“Tonight?” He asks hopefully. If it wasn’t for Officer Tico undoubtedly waiting in the wings, he would have half a mind to bridal carry her out of here and marry her on the spot. 

Rey can’t stop the sly grin from overtaking her face as she replies, “You know there’s _snow_ -where else I’d rather be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theresa, merry, merry Christmas! I hope this was as delightfully cracky/hot to you as it was in my mind and that you giggled mercilessly throughout! <3
> 
> Thank you [Sally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fettuccine_alfreylo) for betaing! 
> 
> This is the first time I've ever written more than a few lines of smut, so I crave your feedback if you made it all the way through. Smash that comment button!


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